Consequences
by Jasmine2009
Summary: Missing scene from Truth or Consequences. Flight home.


Title: Consequences  
Author: Jasmine  
Date: 7/13/12

Universe: NCIS, Season 7

Rated: PG  
Summary: Missing scene from Truth or Consequences. Flight home.

Note: I've had fun with this scene and have written it a couple different ways. This is the version I finished first, so I'm posting it. But I may finish my other version and if I do, I'll post that one too.

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The pilot and crew had been on standby for nearly six hours, so when the dust cloud moved across the horizon and a jeep eventually popped through the haze, the captain clapped his first officer on the shoulder and started the engines.

Gibbs skidded to a halt on the runway and grabbed his rifle from behind the seat. Tony jumped over the side and reached back for Ziva.

"I can walk, Tony."

He dropped her legs and held her until she got her balance, but she wasn't moving on his timetable, so he scooped her back up and mumbled, "Sorry, Ziva, not fast enough!" and carried her into the rear of the plane, depositing her on a wooden crate marked Surplus. He turned to go back, but Gibbs grabbed his arm, "Leave it."

"But I left my gun."

"No you didn't," McGee said, "I got everything."

Gibbs signaled the pilot and waited for the door to close behind him. He was never one to exhale in relief, but if he were, now would be the time to do it. Peeling himself out of the camouflaged suit, he sat down on a crate across from Ziva. He could only imagine what she'd been through.

McGee wouldn't let himself breathe a sigh of relief until he laid eyes on his friends. All of them. And he thanked God they were all there and accounted for, even Ziva. It hadn't been that long ago when he had his doubts about her, not letting himself think the worst but not being able to stop it. It was his colleague's instincts that allowed him to even have hope that they'd see her again. Tony never gave up. He never stopped thinking about her. Thank God for his tenacity; or was it something else?

Pushing that thought aside, he could hardly believe that they'd gotten away safely. During the jeep ride, he thought about pinching himself just to make sure all of this wasn't some sort of dream he couldn't wake up from, but the pain of being bounced around on rutted terrain rid his mind of any doubts. It was real. It was all real. And if he was feeling the agony of the ride in his relatively good physical condition, he could only imagine what Tony and Ziva must be feeling.

McGee took his eyes off Ziva and landed them on his boss. The man's expression said it all. They had just done something amazing. The shot he took from that distance was nothing short of spectacular, but in true Gibbs' fashion, he knew he would never talk about it. But if that piece of the plan was spectacular, the actual get-away could rival the best scenes from any Die Hard movie. Thank goodness Gibbs had tossed the gun to Tony and not him because he knew he was nowhere near as accurate with his aim as Tony was. It took everything he had left to get Ziva safely to the jeep, and then everything he had in reserve to hang onto Tony when Gibbs floored the vehicle out of camp, barely giving Tony enough time to jump on the back and pull himself inside. In one final burst of energy, Tony sprayed automatic fire, leaving a wake of dead and injured behind.

But it was Tony who deserved the credit. Not only was his plan brilliant, but his performance in the interrogation room was no less than Oscar worthy. He thought back to something Tony had said before they'd been captured. It was uncanny how his brain worked. Just before they had driven into the little village, Tony pulled the jeep over and looked him squarely in the eye. McGee remembered that there was something odd about it all, but he dutifully waited. If he had to identify the expression on his friend's face, it was one of understanding, like something a soldier might wear just as he goes into battle.

Tony had said, "If we get attacked, you pretend to be unconscious. Got it?"

For what it was worth, he got it, but he truthfully never expected anything to happen. They'd been all over the damn dessert, and nothing. But that's where Tony's gut was far more developed than his own. It was like he sensed something was coming.

And, with those instructions, it wasn't difficult to crumble into a heap of unconscious matter when the rifle toting terrorist struck him. The difficult part was lying on the dirt floor, listening to what they were doing to his partner and knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The terrorists didn't seem the least bit concerned that they were beating the crap out of another man. And by the sounds of it, the activity was definitely their entertainment for the week. How Tony held up is anyone's guess. They stripped him of his outer vests so the punches and kicks would have maximum impact, and just when he thought they had had their fun and were going to leave him alone, another group would come in and take over, supplying even more well-timed and well placed body blows. They always stopped just short of rendering Tony unconscious, probably because they wanted answers and two unconscious NCIS agents wouldn't benefit anyone.

He didn't dare open an eye to see how his colleague was faring. Instead, he remained "unconscious" and dutifully followed his order, waiting for Tony to give him the signal and hoping it came before a bullet did. But, for some reason, McGee felt like it was all going down according to plan, albeit a crappy plan, but a plan nonetheless. There was one sure thing about Tony: he never lingered too long on procedures, just outcomes. And the outcome of his plan was remarkable. They got the girl, and in the immortal words of George Jones, it don't get any better than that.

Looking at her, he asked, "You okay? You need anything?"

She nodded, "Yes. Some water would be nice."

He took out a bottle and opened it.

Gibbs studied her. Her words may be saying she's okay, but her eyes weren't. He'd seen this before in victims, and knew it would take some time to detox the mind of whatever Saleem had done to her. But for now, she was going to make it. Time is what she needed, and time is what she had the most of. But, ironically, she was not his main concern. His senior field agent was, and at this very moment, he found Tony's actions interesting.

He seemed preoccupied, restless even. He paced, fidgeted, stretched, and generally appeared anxious, but to his knowledge, nothing had happened other than the obvious beating that Gibbs had had the misfortune of watching through the scope of his rifle, but even if he hadn't witnessed it, the effects of the interrogation were quite evident across Tony's face and torso. Blood trickled down the corner of his mouth and the black and blue bruises were beginning to appear across his jaw and neck.

His mission, while not very pretty, was successful. And it was Tony's mission. He'd put the whole plan together. All Gibbs did was offer the insurance policy that allowed Vance to sign off on it.

Both he and McGee exchanged a glance, but whereas his glance was one of concern, McGee's was more of amusement. This intrigued him.

Tony had now paced the floor of the cargo plane three times. He kept stretching his neck and shaking his head like he was having a heated conversation with himself. As the plane continued to taxi down the runway, McGee furrowed his brow at his partner in crime. "Tony, why don't you sit down?"

"Sit down?" he admonished. "Don't you have any adrenaline in you, McGee? I can't just sit down after that." Even when the pilot yelled back that they were taking off, all Tony did was grab a strap hanging from the roof and hang on as the big bellied plane gained momentum and smoothly lifted off the ground.

"Well, I can," McGee answered. "In fact, I can relax now that we've accomplished our mission."

"I'm glad YOU can."

Still smiling, McGee coaxed, "C'mon, Tony, relax. We got what we came for," he said, offering a wink at the still dazed Israeli.

"Yes, we did," Tony pondered, but his revelry didn't last long. As he held onto the strap, he involuntarily flexed his muscles, fighting hard to maintain some semblance of control. He eventually let go and walked between everyone to the front of the plane, continuing to stretch his neck and trying to assuage the hurt.

"I guess I can understand your reluctance to relax. You might say something you'll regret," he mused, smiling broadly at his colleague.

Gibbs listened, still confused by the computer geek's seemingly taunting behavior of his older and at the moment quite agitated agent. At best, his actions were reckless, at worst, they were fueling some inner fire that his senior field agent was desperately trying to control.

"I know what you need," McGee yelled down the plane.

"I highly doubt that," Tony mumbled under his breath.

"Water."

The idea of drinking something actually sounded good. In fact, it sounded so damn good that he found himself feeling slightly annoyed that he didn't figure that one out on his own. He made his way down the plane, realizing he had no saliva in his mouth, giving him a severe case of cotton-mouth. And as he rubbed his tongue over his teeth, he discovered that he had a mouthful of grit and sand. And blood. Which only served to exacerbate the dryness.

"Take this," McGee said, grinning at him.

"Thanks." The temperate water felt good going down and he only stop drinking when the bottle was empty.

"Still got all your teeth?" McGee asked, not really concerned, but he was enjoying seeing his friend in his current state.

"Why are you smiling like a school girl, McGoo? Stop it!"

Tim took out his own canteen and opened it slowly, saying, "I could have some fun with you right now."

"What the hell are you talking about? We just HAD fun."

"No, I mean a different sort of fun."

"You have the wrong body parts for me to have fun with, McGuy."

Gibbs smiled at the banter, clearly recognizing that the tables seemed to somehow be turned on this duo. He leaned back, resting his weary body against the mesh straps, and listened to McGee's newfound brazenness. Usually, Tony has him so on edge that he's tongue tied and can't spit the words out fast enough. But things were different now, and if nothing else, he could sit back and wile away the flight time by listening to this very unusual, and very out of character, conversation between his probationary agent and his senior field agent.

"It feels good to say what's on your mind, doesn't it?" McGee mused, replacing the cap on his canteen.

"Yes. No. Yes. What are you doing, McGee?"

"You're still under the influence of Saleem's homemade truth serum, aren't you?"

"No," he said, trying to sound convincing, but the anxiety he felt was causing his head to ache. "Yes!" he finally blurted.

"That's what I thought." Turning to Gibbs, he said, "You may not be aware of this, Boss, but Saleem invented his own brand of truth serum. And then he injected Tony with some of it. You wouldn't have seen him do it, but he did, shortly before you shot him."

Gibbs studied DiNozzo. He was definitely fighting against something.

"I'm sure you don't mind, Tony, but I think I have some questions for you."

Ziva studied both agents. McGee was being about as audacious as she'd ever seen him, and Tony was certainly acting strangely. She wondered how far Tim would take it. Then she wondered what Tony would do to him after the drug had left his system. She figured it probably depended on what he revealed, if anything. Afterall, Tony was the master of deception and the king of gab. Who would know any different?

Gibbs thought about interfering, but Tony would have done the same thing to Tim had the tables been reversed, only tenfold. Let him find his own way has always been his motto and now was no exception.

"McGee, I'm warning you. Don't go there!"

"Ziva, were you given any of Saleem's truth serum?"

"No."

"I wonder why he gave it to you, Tony?"

Gibbs answered, "Time. He was running out of time with Tony. They were moving camp in a day or two."

"Of course, and he needed answers in a hurry. Makes sense," McGee said. "But that still leaves me with some questions for you."

DiNozzo struggled against the serum. Instead of diminishing, it just seemed to be building in strength and he was being overcome with emotions that he seldom felt, let alone allowed anyone else to see. He shook his head and laughed, "You really think you can get me to talk, McTraitor?"

"I can try. I'd never forgive myself if I didn't."

"Go ahead, McQuestions, ask away! But be careful what you ask because I may have to kill you if I divulge the wrong information."

"Okay. For starters, how does a fifteen year old boy meet a Rockette?"

Gibbs and Ziva turned to hear his answer.

It was evident that he was fighting an internal war inside his head. He paced in front of them again, finally blurting out, "I skipped school and went to New York." He tried desperately to stop the words from escaping his lips, but his mind was all jumbled up. "We went to see a show and they thought—" he walked away again, still hoping that he'd shut up but it almost hurt to remain silent, "—they thought we were the extra dancers." He held onto the strap and pulled, thinking exercise might relieve his desire to speak, but it only made it worse. "Next thing I know, she's pulling me into her dressing room and she began undressing—"

"—That's okay, Tony, I think we get the picture," McGee said, cutting across his words before the details were revealed. Not that he thought Tony would mind telling them anything, afterall, he'd given them so many details of his sexual prowess that what's one more? But he wasn't in the mood to feel inadequate, which is how Tony's stories often made him feel.

"Good!" Tony groused, and stormed away, feeling his head pound more than it had since he'd been injected.

Gibbs watched the action from the comfort of his wooden bench. He knew a lot about DiNozzo, but there were some things even he wasn't privy to.

McGee continued to observe Tony try and shake his head of the anxiety that the serum was producing. He looked across the way at his boss and asked, "You want to know anything about him?"

"McGee! I'm warning you!" Tony said from the far end of the plane. "If I say anything…"

Ignoring the threat, McGee raised his brows at Ziva, "How 'bout you? You want to know anything?"

Ziva did want to know things. In fact, she wanted to know many things about Tony. But right now, sitting on the crate, she wanted to know one very specific thing. She wanted to know why. Why did he rescue her? Why did he risk his life and the life of those closest to him to find her? He couldn't have been sure she was even alive, but he came anyway. And she knew it was his idea; she felt it when she first saw him. And she had been so glad to see him seated in front of her. He made her feel safe in a way few men ever could.

McGee read her like a book. She wore the same quizzical expression that was present whenever American slang confused her. "What do you want to know Ziva? I can ask him anything. How about Jeanne Benoit? Wouldn't you like to know how that op started?"

It made her sad to think about that period of time when she had to watch Tony develop feelings for another woman. She had once confided in McGee that she wondered what Ms. Benoit had that captured her partner's heart the way she did. But before she could nix the idea, McGee was saying, "Hey, Tony?"

"Wait!" Ziva asserted, a bit too much for her condition. She coughed. "Do not ask him that."

McGee wasn't sure how he felt about having his powers taken away, but after scrutinizing her face, he decided to let it go. Maybe there were some things that were still too painful for her to deal with, especially in her current condition. But he couldn't possibly waste this opportunity of a lifetime. So rather than spend the rest of the trip in silence, he turned back to his colleague and asked, "I've always wanted to know what happened between you and your high school music teacher?"

_Uh oh_, Gibbs thought.

In several long strides, Tony was standing face to face with his tormentor, holding him up by his shirt collar and speaking inches away from his face. "I'm warning you…"

"Okay, Okay! I'm sorry. I didn't know that was such a sticky topic for you."

"You seem to be enjoying yourself, McNosy."

"It's not every day that I have this opportu—"

"—Stop asking me all these questions, got it?"

He tried to nod, but Tony's knuckles were pressed against his throat, making the motion difficult. "Could you let go of my collar?" he croaked. "Please? I won't ask about your music teacher again."

Tony released him and turned away. Shaking his head, it was apparent that the exertion ran counter to the serum.

But McGee wasn't going to be so easily dissuaded, mainly because Tony would NEVER have backed down had he been the one injected, and no telling what Tony would have put him through. Paybacks were hell, and what's a black eye or two when they'd just finished a mission that they probably shouldn't have lived through anyways? He straightened his shirt and shrugged off any hesitation he was feeling. Thinking out loud, he said, "I wonder how long it'll take before it wears off?" Then he decided to throw caution to the wind and ask, "Hey, Tony, I have just one last question. What did you do that got you kicked out of boarding school?"

This time, Gibbs closed his eyes. If McGee was going to play with fire, then he'd learn the hard way that fire, when too close, burns.

~fini

**As usual, I love comments, especially those that are constructive. Hope you enjoyed this little piece. ~Jasmine**


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